


Trying To Escape The Inevitable

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, ghost fic, this is really sad and gay tbh, tw for murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard never thought he'd see him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying To Escape The Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> This is possibly my favourite thing I've ever written, I hope you like it. Shoutout to the amazing Gee ray-toro-ofsunshine on tumblr for proofing for me.

To say that Gerard Way was not having a good night would have been a gross understatement. Virtually nothing was going his way. First, he’d gotten a really shitty mark on an assignment he was proud of. He’d spent weeks labouring over it, only to have his professor tell him that it “lacked feeling.” He guessed that was sort of his fault for setting the bar too high with that painting last year. It still stung though.

Add that to the fact that he’d been stood up for lunch with a friend, been sprayed with mud by a passing bus, had his cable shut off, and been late for work for the third time that week, and the day was pretty much the worst in recent memory.

Then, of fucking course, the pizza guy just hadn’t fucking showed up. When he called the place to ask what was taking so long, they’d apparently had no record of him ordering anything in the first place. Any logical person would simply assume there’d been a mix-up and order again, but this was Gerard. Gerard was the king of illogical impulsivity these days, so of course he’d just shouted “fuck you, buddy” and hung up angrily. He’d climbed into bed shortly after that, exhausted from the day, which had seemed intent on fucking him up the ass with a chainsaw at every given opportunity. He felt a sort of resignation, though. Like he knew his life was shit, he could pinpoint the exact moment it had gone to shit, and he knew that it would be always be shit. At this point, he figured, there was no point in trying to escape the inevitable. He turned over in bed, thinking that he really wasn’t that mad about the pizza after all. This time of year, he didn’t have much of an appetite anyway.

And now, the icing on top of his ridiculous day of suck, at quarter past three in the morning, his next door neighbour was wailing obnoxiously into a microphone. Gerard was a decent singer, and he could probably be in a punk band because he knew how to scream, so he could recognize what the guy was trying to do. He understood the process, and could start to appreciate that there was an attempt there. But goddamnit, the poor guy couldn’t carry a tune if you put it in a bucket _for_ him. His voice cracks made Gerard cringe, and he thought that the guy’s throat must be aching almost as much as Gerard’s head by now.

He groaned, and pulled a pillow over his head, but it did almost nothing to mute the noise. In his head, he weighed the pros and cons of just deafening himself with a knife or something and being done with it. It wouldn't have been nearly as bad if his neighbour had been a good singer, or even just a decent one, but he sounded more like a dying cat than anything remotely human. He wondered why no one else in the building had complained yet. His neighbour _was_ sort of ripped. Maybe they were all way more afraid and way less stupidly reckless than Gerard.

He sighed angrily, angry at the world, and his stupid shitty life, and his goddamn thin walls. Gerard pulled himself out of bed and fumbled along the wall for the light switch. In the process, he managed to stub his toe, knock over two boxes of comics, three empty coffee mugs, and his full laundry basket. 

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered. He kept sliding his hand along the wall until his fingers hit the switch. He flicked it on and squinted at the new, somewhat unwelcome brightness. He grabbed a pair of maybe clean pants from the floor, and yanked them on quickly before shuffling out of his apartment and into the dingy hallway, then pounding on the door next to his.

“Fuck off, I’m trying to sleep, dickwad!” he yelled. The singing cut off immediately, and he heard something that sounded like papers being shuffled, feedback from a speaker, and some embarrassed cursing. The poor bastard hadn’t even known he was being that loud.

Good, Gerard thought, maybe now he could sleep. Or maybe, his neighbour was just getting ready to come over and kick his ass for embarrassing him. Maybe he’d knock him out. That would be sort of like sleep, right? Gerard didn't know, but he was willing and eager to find out.

He trudged back over to his own apartment, and crawled back in between the sheets. He tried for a while to sleep, tossing and turning, but he knew that sleep would not come easily now that he’d gotten out of bed. Any progress he’d made towards it was completely lost. Sighing dejectedly, Gerard decided that he was going to write obscene things all over his neighbour’s door in the morning. In permanent marker. For now though, he hauled himself back out of bed. 

He figured he might as well do something productive, and sleep deprivation was good for the creative process anyway, so he grabbed his sketchbook and a pack of cigarettes off his desk, and sat on the lumpy couch in his undersized living room. Lighting up a smoke, he began to lay out the guidelines for a piece that was due in a few weeks. He made quick, sketchy lines, that would eventually become the figures he’d use to represent lost love. There would be a man and a woman, the man completely coloured in black and grey tones, the only white in his eyes. The woman would be the opposite. Gerard decided that they’d be holding hands under a big, twisted tree, and starting to crumble around the edges. The title, “I Don’t Love You.”

It must have been about an hour later when Gerard finally started to drift off. His sketchbook and pencils fell to the floor, and his head lolled to one side. As his breathing evened out, and his mind finally quieted, there was a series of hard, slow knocks at the door.

Gerard jerked awake, nearly falling off the couch. 

“Whatthefuck?” he slurred. Rubbing at his eyes, he stumbled to the door, wondering if his neighbour had finally come to kick his ass. It wouldn't be hard, given that Gerard was still mostly asleep. Nevertheless, he yanked the door open and prepared to meet his fate.

What he saw nearly convinced him that he actually was asleep, and was dreaming. 

What he saw was his boyfriend, Frank. 

Only that didn't make any sense at all, because the cops had pulled Frank’s beaten, waterlogged body out of the lake back home almost three years ago. 

Yet there he was. He was a little different, paler, gaunter, and his hair looked damp. There were bruises all over his body, and his shirt had a few holes in it. His eyes were rimmed thickly with red, and the lips Gerard remembered kissing for the first time all those years ago had taken on a bluish tinge. But it was Frank. Gerard didn't know how, but it was Frank. Completely and undoubtably Frank. From his posture to the look in his foggy eyes as he saw Gerard’s face, it was him. 

Gerard didn't know what to say. What was the appropriate response when your dead boyfriend showed up at your door in the middle of the night? It didn't seem right to make a joke, but Gerard thought that if he didn’t, he might cry instead. 

Frank didn't say anything either. He just swayed slightly, as though he was fighting to stay awake. He kept flickering around the edges, like he wasn’t quite there, but couldn’t leave completely either. 

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Gerard managed to get out. He fought the tears biting at the edges of his eyes - he was finished crying over Frank, or at least, that was what he told himself.

Frank shook his head, “It’s really me, G. I’m really here.”

“No,” Gerard mumbled, shaking his head and turning away, “Frank’s dead. For three years next week.”

Frank bit his lip, “Yeah. But that doesn't mean it isn't me. 

“What the fuck?” Gerard asked, understandably upset, and genuinely perplexed. 

“I-I can explain. Sort of,” Frank said, “Can I come in?”

Gerard nodded, and motioned for Frank to come in.

“So,” Frank said, looking around the apartment, “You’re right. I’m dead.”

Gerard let out a shaky laugh, “Yeah, I know that.”

Frank nodded, “Right. But I didn’t…leave. I couldn’t.”

Gerard moved to take one of Frank’s hands, the way he’d done a million times when Frank had been alive. Frank jerked away.

“You don’t wanna do that,” He warned.

Gerard pulled his hand back, feeling like he’d been stung by Frank’s tone.

“Sorry,” He mumbled.

Frank stepped closer, “It’s not- I wish I could, ok? Just, fuck, every time I touch someone…it goes badly.”

Gerard nodded, “Ok. Sorry.”

Frank sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Fuck, Gerard, stop apologizing. I’m the one that got fucking murdered and left you all alone. You should be pissed at me." 

Gerard shook his head, “It’s not your fault. I know that.”

Frank just laughed bitterly, and Gerard flinched because fuck. It had been years since he’d heard that laugh, and the anger behind it caused him actual, physical pain.

“Of course it was my fault,” Frank said, “I kept picking fights with the guy, couldn’t keep my big fucking mouth shut.”

“Frank,” Gerard said, brow furrowing, “You didn’t deserve to die because you said something stupid. It was his fault. One hundred percent.” 

And then he had to take a deep breath, because the strangeness of the whole thing was starting to freak him the fuck out. He was standing in his living room, trying to convince his dead boyfriend that he didn’t deserve to be murdered. _Fuck._ What the fuck.

Frank looked at the floor, scratching absently at the back of his neck, and it was the weirdest thing, because Gerard could almost see his hand through his face. 

“I’ve been trying to keep myself together for long enough to find you, y’know,” He said, “It’s not easy…being visible. Corporeal. Whatever the fuck you wanna call this,” He gestured to himself.

Gerard didn’t know what to say, except, “Thanks? I guess. You didn’t have to. I-I was getting better.” And even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. By the look on his face, he guessed Frank did too.

Frank shrugged, “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

And that was when something inside Gerard just broke. Knowing that Frank had been out there somewhere, missing him too? It was a torturous feeling.

“I missed you too, Frankie. So fucking much. It’s been hell since you’ve been gone,” he said, a few tears finally breaking free of his eyes to trickle down his face, “I-I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even sleep. And Mikey. H-he got so bad. He almost-“ Gerard paused, unable to say it, “Ray just fucking moved away.” He took a shaky breath, wiping at his eyes.

The look of pure guilt on Frank’s face was enough to send a fresh wave of tears down Gerard’s face. 

“I’m sorry,” Frank said, “I’m sorry I left you. You were the last thing I thought about. Y’know, before. And pretty much most of the time since.”

Gerard had to turn away at that, “I shouldn’t have let you walk home by yourself that night.”

Frank shook his head, “Don’t you dare blame yourself. If you had come with me, we’d both be fucking dead.”

Gerard gave him a pained look, “At least then we’d be together.”

“Fuck that,” Frank said, almost looking angry, “Being dead sucks. Not even being dead. Being stuck here. It’s like I’m being pulled in two different directions, and it’s the worst feeling.”

Gerard stepped forward to hug him, or touch his face, or hold his hand, but he couldn’t, and he hated it so much. He just wanted his Frank back. For real, not just a ghost of a memory of the love he’d had.

“I-I’m sorry. I wish I could help,” He said, feeling entirely useless. 

Frank shrugged, “Just seeing you helps.”

Gerard didn’t know what to say to that, and they just stood in awkward silence for a while.

Frank, just like he always did when he was alive, spoke first. 

“So. Talk to me. What have you been up to?” he asked.

Gerard gave a small smile, “Art school.”

Frank grinned, “I fuckin told you they’d accept you. Didn’t I always say it? They would’ve been stupid not to.”

Gerard’s smile widened, “It’s really fun. I um,” He blushed, “I painted you. For a project last year. Do you wanna see?”

In that moment, Frank looked almost alive. Gerard wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his smile got even wider, and he nodded his head, “Fuck yeah.”

So Gerard bit his lip, and lead Frank to the room that was meant to be a second bedroom, but he had turned into a studio. The painting was hung up on the wall, and though he’d done it nearly a year ago, Gerard thought it was the best he’d ever done. 

It was Frank, eyes closed, floating beneath the surface of murky lake water. His face was ghostly and hollow, but there was a ring of waterlilies around his head, like a crown. Tiny fish swam next to his cheeks, and creeping water plants ensnared his limbs. He was obviously dead, but he looked peaceful. Content, almost. As though he’d accepted and made peace with his own untimely demise. That was how Gerard had liked to imagine Frank. 

“Do you like it?” Gerard asked hesitantly.

Frank was almost speechless, gazing up at the painting reverently. He just nodded, and said, “Fuck, I wish I could kiss you,” in a hushed, almost pained tone.

He turned to Gerard, and his pale eyes were glassy when he said, “You never…you never forgot me, did you?”

Gerard shook his head fiercely, “Never. You changed my life, Frank. I could never forget you.”

Frank smiled at that, eyes wandering back to the haunting painting. 

And then Gerard had to stifle a yawn, because it was five am and believe it or not, even he had a limit.

Frank turned to him again, “God, sorry. I’m such an asshole, showing up here this late. You should go to bed,” he stared at the ground, as though that was the last thing in the entire world that he wanted.

Gerard shook his head, “No. Fuck no. I’m not sleeping through a second of time with you.”

“Coffee, then?” Frank asked, a half-smirk on his chapped lips.

Gerard nodded, smiling and thinking how suddenly it was like Frank had never been gone. Like they were just admiring his latest piece, and Frank was chastising him for staying up so late again. It felt so normal, so right. And Gerard couldn’t help being a little angry as he imagined the life they could have had together. Frank could have gone to school at the nearby college, and played gigs with his band on the weekends. They could have gotten a dog, and a houseplant, and been disgustingly domestic together. They could have had Mikey and his boyfriend, and Ray and his girlfriend over on Thanksgiving and Christmas. They could have stayed up all night having movie marathons, and nerf gun wars, and Gerard could have had Frank model for him instead of just using a photo. It could have been amazing. But Frank was dead, and nothing could change that, so now it couldn’t be. Not ever.

He and Frank went back out to the kitchen, more of a kitchenette, Gerard thought, and he turned the coffee pot on.

Frank sat down at the table, and Gerard accidentally got out two mugs before he remembered.

He went to put one back, but Frank said, “Wait. I can’t drink it, but fuck, I miss the smell.”

Gerard smiled softly and slowly lowered the mug back to the counter. 

As Gerard drank his coffee, he started telling Frank all about the past three years. 

“Mikey graduated high school last year,” he said, loving the look of total pride that shone on Frank’s face.

“Little Mikey’s all grown up. I can’t believe it. Is he still with that asshole?” he asked.

Gerard nodded, “Pete’s not as bad as you think, y’know. He was really good for Mikey after…well, after you left.”

Frank looked down, ashamed, “Sorry. I wish I could see him again. Just one more time, y’know? I miss the kid.”

“You could, though,” Gerard said excitedly, “He doesn’t live that far away, he could come over in the morning.”

Frank glanced out the window, “I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be good for him.”

“Oh,” Gerard said, a little upset because he thought it was sort of selfish of Frank to decide that for Mikey.

Frank quickly changed the subject, “What about Ray? You said he moved, right?”

Gerard nodded, “Yeah. He just couldn’t take it. Being here. It’s funny, he’d seen so many bodies pulled out of that lake, he barely even reacted when it was yours. But I guess he was more upset than he let on, because the day after the funeral he just up and left completely out of nowhere. Didn’t even tell his mom.” 

Frank looked guilty again, “Fuck, man. Toro didn’t deserve that.”

Gerard couldn’t help agreeing, “I think he’s doing better now, he’s making music. Just like he always wanted,” he said, smiling a little.

Frank smiled too, “That’s good. Never met anyone who could shred like Ray.”

They were quiet for a minute, and Gerard started to get angry again because he hated how normal it felt for Frank to be sitting there with him, in the small, shitty apartment that should be theirs instead of his. He hated how he had everything he wanted three years ago before Frank died. He hated how he knew it couldn’t be permanent. 

Frank noticed how upset Gerard looked, and tried to distract him.

“Um. G, how’s my mom? How did she take it, I mean,” he said.

Gerard almost started crying again at the mention of Frank’s mother. He remembered the look on her face at the funeral. Not sad, not angry, just empty. And that look had never left her face.

“Um. She was a wreck at first, obviously. But I think she’s doing better now,” He lied. And he knew Frank could tell that he was lying. He always could. But he looked grateful. Maybe it was for the best if he didn’t know his mother still looked just as shocked and empty as the day she’d found out her son was dead.

Frank smiled, and said, “Good.” 

He glanced out the window again, and Gerard followed his gaze. The sun had just begun to peak over the horizon. 

Frank looked slightly panicked by the impending sunrise. “Fuck,” he whispered, “I thought I’d have more time.”

Gerard’s brow furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean?” he said.

Frank sighed, “I haven’t been totally honest with you, Gerard.”

Gerard started to panic internally, “Frank, tell me,” he said.

“I haven’t actually been looking for you for three years. I just came back for tonight. My last night. I thought about it for a long time, and decided I wanted to spend it with you,” he said sadly, staring at the mug of untouched coffee in his hands. 

“Oh,” Gerard said. He felt a little unworthy, that of all the people Frank could have chosen, it was him. 

“There are two ways I can leave,” Frank said, “Either the sun rises, or I touch a living person.”

_“Oh,”_ Gerard said again, feeling a little more panicked, because the light that was filtering in through the dirty window was getting brighter by the minute, and as the room brightened, he noticed that Frank became more and more transparent. 

“Yeah,” Frank said, “I wish I could stay. I wish we could be together again. For real. This is bullshit.”

Gerard nodded in agreement, “How much longer do you have?” he asked.

Frank shrugged, “I’d say twenty minutes or so?”

Gerard swore loudly, because there was so much more he needed to tell Frank, and how could he possibly fit it all into twenty minutes? 

He told Frank this, and he replied, “Try.”

So he did. He told Frank all about this girl he met, Lindsey, and how she was totally wild, and one of the best friends he’d ever had, and who’s friend Jamia he wished Frank could meet, because he totally would have loved her. He talked about how Mikey, Gabe, and Pete got arrested last year for public indecency because they lost a bet to Patrick, and it was really their own fault for being dumb enough to bet against Patrick in the first place. He explained how he punched Bert in the dick last winter for trying to get in his pants, and how the rest of the guys practically hailed him as a hero for it. He told Frank about this girl who spilled coffee all over him at Starbucks and ruined a painting last week, and how she bought him a giftcard for fifty dollars and tried to take him out for lunch because she felt so bad, though he suspected the lunch thing was just her hitting on him. Every big thing, every small thing, anything he could possibly fit into those twenty way-too-small minutes. 

Frank listened intently to all of it, drinking in the information. Laughing, and smiling, and scowling, and for the third time that morning Gerard felt incredibly mad, because it was so unfair that Frank didn’t get to be there for all of that. 

Before either of them knew it, their precious minutes were gone, and Frank was fading fast. 

“Come here,” he said, standing up. 

Gerard obliged, standing so close to Frank that they were only millimetres apart.

“Don’t forget me, ok?” Frank said, “I love you so much. Don’t ever forget me.” 

And as Gerard nodded, a single tear rolling down his cheek, “I won’t. Not ever.”

Frank smiled sadly. Then, he leaned forward and kissed him.

Gerard reacted instinctively, one hand coming up to cup Frank’s cheek, and the other settling on his waist. Frank was cold, and Gerard’s hands sank into him like they were being plunged into icy water. He didn’t care though. It was their first kiss in three years - their last kiss ever, and he didn’t know how much longer it would last. 

Sure enough, Frank became more and more intangible, until he finally was gone, leaving only a whispered goodbye.

And Gerard, standing in the middle of the kitchen, chilled to the core and still grasping desperately at the air where Frank had stood only a few short seconds ago.

And just like that, he was alone again.


End file.
